


Flotsam and Jetsam

by lakeghost



Category: Being Human (UK), Castlevania (Cartoon), 悪魔城ドラキュラ | Castlevania Series
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Alternate Universe - Being Human (UK) Fusion, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Angst, Angst and Humor, Chance Meetings, Comfort/Angst, Emotional Baggage, F/F, F/M, First Meetings, Gen, Ghost!Alucard, Guilt, Lisa lives!, M/M, Major Character Injury, Multi, Other, Sharing Clothes, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Vampire!Trevor, Wakes & Funerals, Werewolf!Sypha, a road trip montage would not feel out of place, ad hoc therapy session, being human AU, strangers to awkward roommates, werewolf meetcute
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:20:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23882197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lakeghost/pseuds/lakeghost
Summary: Exactly what it says on the tin - a vampire, a werewolf, and a ghost find each other adrift in a chaotic world and decide to move in together
Relationships: Alucard | Adrian Tepes | Arikado Genya/Sypha Belnades, Alucard | Adrian Tepes | Arikado Genya/Trevor Belmont, Alucard | Adrian Tepes | Arikado Genya/Trevor Belmont/Sypha Belnades, Dracula Vlad Tepes | Mathias Cronqvist & Lisa, Dracula/Lisa (Castlevania), Trevor Belmont/Sypha Belnades
Comments: 6
Kudos: 27





	1. It's Raining Men (Hallelujah)

Trevor spat snow out of his mouth and wished, not for the first time, that he knew other vampires. Anyone that could pull him aside and say, _Hey, don’t open your big dumb mouth right now, you’re about to get yourself kicked out of another village._

But vampires are assholes, so he avoided them as best as he could.

He’d been avoiding them so well, in fact, that he’d almost managed to convince himself he could ignore his affliction entirely.

Unfortunately, he did not keep his big dumb mouth shut.

  


“What, and they weren’t victims in all this?”

The bald man behind the table scoffed. “You play with fire and you get burned. Who the hell are you?” He crossed his arms and sized Trevor up.

“It doesn’t matter who I am. I’m just saying, they only killed monsters. They helped people.” Trevor didn’t know if that was true, really. He’d immediately regretted speaking, but it was too late now.

A different man, older, at the far end of the bar, snorted. “The Belmonts got what they deserved. Trouble always followed in their wake, it was about time trouble caught up.” He sniffed brusquely. “My wife and I hadn’t had our little one more than two years when some big purple demon dropped out of the sky and scooped him up. And then here come a couple of cocky Belmonts all fucking noble and the like, saviors of the town, and my kid’s still dead. They’re trouble.” He spat onto the straw-covered floor beside him.

Trevor silently empathized with the man and kept his head low.

“How’s that strike ya, huh?” A burly patron came up from behind Trevor and knocked him on the back. He could smell the lingering twist of fish guts on the man’s hands, under the harsh soap and raw skin of his knuckles. “Fuckin’ useless,” he mumbled as he flopped into the seat next to Trevor. He slammed his hand on the table to get the owner’s attention.

Trevor knew the fishmonger had a tendency to get aggressive when he was drunk, intentional or not. He let his head lean on his shoulder a bit as he inspected the shocking pink of the man’s hands, shiny and taut like the blood might burst out if pricked by a pin.

“... it’s just too bad the Church got ‘em first.”

Trevor blinked back up to the world around him. Apparently the conversation had continued while he pondered whether the fishmonger would be missed if he were to mysteriously disappear.

“Well they didn’t though, did they? Vampires did them in.”

Speculating on how his family met their fiery doom was at least better than applauding it. Trevor made to take another sip of his ale and was dismayed to find the vessel empty.

Another unknown voice joined the fray. “Bullshit. Vampires aren’t that organized.”

He was right. Really not good with calendars, his lot.

“What, you think a few priests locked them in that iced cake of an estate and that was that? We all know they were cunning. The Church had help taking care of their little heretics.”

Trevor rolled his eyes, but he could feel his skin itching. It shouldn’t bother him. It was years ago now, and these village-folk didn’t know any better. Hell, he wouldn’t know any better if it wasn’t his own lineage. Secrecy and elitism were part of the monster-killing package. Violent tragedy borne of misunderstanding was an inevitability.

Trevor realized he’d tuned out the plot of the raucous conversation yet again when the fishmonger threw an arm around his shoulder and pulled him back in.

“You agree with me, right? The vampire Belmont’s an old wives’ tale.” Trevor shrugged off the man’s arm. He went on, unfazed, “These loons are too drunk to think straight.”

Trevor stood. The man at his side was looking more and more like a prospective meal and he’d really rather not. He shook off the general detritus of dandruff and crusted food from his cloak. _Maybe I’ll wash it tomorrow_ , he thought to himself. _That would be nice_.

“Ha!” The older man at the end of the bar spoke again. “As if a Belmont would let themselves be tainted that way. I’d think draining the life outta hapless common folk might get in the way of those morals they’d go on about. Not that it bothered them all that much before.” He snorted again, somewhere between a cough and a laugh.

 _Get to the door, get to the house, get to bed. Door, house, bed_. Trevor repeated his mantra as he elbowed his way forward. The room suddenly seemed a lot more crowded.

“Myth or not, serves him right. Traitor gets a traitor’s punishment.” The fishmonger was grinning wildly, and his face was flushed a florid shade that prompted Trevor to drool slightly, despite his escalating rage. “Coward like that, I could take ‘im in a fight. Easy.”

Trevor knew this would end poorly even before his body started turning of its own volition.

  


Trevor leaned back on his heels and took a deep breath. He looked between his knees at the limp fishmonger he was straddling, and heard the bartender step up onto a nearby table. His voice rang out over the circle enclosing Trevor. “I don't care who the hell you are - you beat a man half to death on my property, I'll kill you myself the next time I see you face.”

“Well, I don’t seem particularly dead now,” Trevor smirked.

He didn’t see the man behind him smash the stool over his head, but he heard the legs splinter. Rough hands shoved him toward the door while the dark patches bled in and out of his vision. He flopped through the threshold and onto his knees to vomit. Someone must have kicked him, or maybe his arms just gave out, because that was the end of what he remembered.

He doubted he would be welcomed back into his routine of odd jobs and farmwork come morning. The fishmonger alone probably cost him any of the goodwill he’d built up in the past six months. And of course, getting blackout drunk in the community tavern and forgetting about it all was no longer an option.

He pulled himself up off the narrow shoulder of the road and turned to flip off the tavern in question.

***

He trudged through the slush and mud into the ring of forest along the south edge of town. It would take longer to get back to the shithole of a house he shared with three other men, which meant more time walking in the cold, but also less time in said shithole. Besides, Trevor didn’t really trust himself around humans at the moment.

His drinking had gotten worse over the past couple of years, but it didn’t bother him as much as it probably should have - it was just booze. There’d been a year or two after everything happened that he’d managed to put almost entirely out of his memory, scenes dripping with red and fear and lust. Now, a bender meant he woke up in a gutter covered in vomit and several pounds of coin lighter. Not an eviscerated body to be seen.

It wasn’t ideal, sure, but it seemed like a fair enough compromise.

Trevor pulled his cloak tighter around his body. The wind had become sharp and mean during his walk. His breath wasn’t warm enough to fog when he exhaled, but the icy air still cut at his lungs when he breathed in. Whoever said vampires didn’t feel the cold had clearly never met one.

The scenery was nice, at least. This deep into the trees, the dusting of snow that had fallen through the leaves caught the light of the moon and reflected it back into the sky. It was quiet, well into the witching hour.

  


He heard brush and ice snapping a ways off in the distance. It was something large and fast, but well out of range of sight. Trevor kept walking and winced at the feeling of meltwater soaking his boots.

A few more minutes slipped by and the animal passed closer, disrupting more foliage. He wondered if it knew how loud it was moving through the icy terrain. It would have a tough time catching any prey if it kept up like this.

More walking, more rustling. Trevor blamed the alcohol for his delay in realizing he was being stalked. He kept his pace, considering his options.

Most predators left him an uneasy berth, recognizing one of their own. But as he continued his slog it was very clear the animal was making wide loops around him, circling tighter like a noose.

The trees became slightly sparser, letting in more light. The animal was close now. He caught a flash of coppery fur - the color of a fox, but on something much larger. From the sound of its steps, Trevor suspected a bear. Odd considering the time of year, but -

Trevor was knocked flat onto his back in an instant, gasping for air. He jumped back to his feet but the animal had already disappeared into the periphery again. He growled, low in his chest. It was not a human sound, and he hoped the creature would take note and leave him alone. He really didn’t want to kill anything tonight.

From his left, a deeper growl echoed back. He spun, facing the threat, waiting for its next move. He listened carefully but struggled to hear any movement.

Suddenly, another blur leapt out of the trees and knocked Trevor several feet into the air, this time nipping at his side and tearing through his tunic before disappearing again. Irritated (and perhaps a little scared), he pushed himself up to his feet. _What the hell was this?_ It seemed intelligent, like it was toying with him. He took a deep breath, and tried listening again. He still couldn’t hear anything over the rush of blood in his head - lack of sobriety definitely wasn’t helping the situation. He crouched, bringing his weight low. He anticipated another strike from behind, but kept his eyes forward. He slowly reached for one of the throwing knives in his belt - on his fingertips, its freezing cold surface stood out against the leather.

A shape emerged from the trees, at first bipedal but quickly falling onto four paws. _It couldn’t be, could it?_ Trevor gripped his knife, torn. He waited, and watched the creature step into the silvery light. The red fur was coarse and curly, roving down over densely muscled shoulders and massive, clawed paws.

The werewolf snarled and began to pace to the side. Trevor snarled back. It still hadn’t technically tried to kill him, maybe he should -

The creature launched itself full-force onto Trevor’s chest, knocking the knife out of his hand and far into the scrub. It opened its jaws wide and snapped them closed over his right shoulder, shredding the skin like paper as it ripped through tendon and muscle.

Trevor yelled and rolled onto his damaged shoulder, surprising the werewolf and forcing it to let go to avoid having its skull crushed. It pulled back and darted forward again, going for the softer meat along his back. The Belmont was ready, however, with a knife gripped in his left hand pinned under his body. He rolled halfway, jabbing upward, and caught the creature low on its throat. It was a poor strike, and not very deep, but afforded him enough time to scramble to his feet as it yelped.

He took a good look at it again. It had clear blue eyes that would be shockingly human if they weren’t locked onto his with the intent to kill. Its muzzle was dripping with his blood, and the wolf sharply shook its head, spattering droplets deep into the brush.

Trevor took off running - a stupid, stupid thing to do - as if he had a chance of outrunning a werewolf in the trees. The precarious lead he had gained diminished almost immediately, and the man jumped for the low branch of one of the sturdier birches in his line of sight. He swung his weight forward, praying his feet would catch on the trunk, as the animal behind him snapped at his heels.

His boots met the bark with a jolt that arced pain through his shoulder, and he shifted his weight to his good arm as he scrambled up onto the low branch. The werewolf was below him now. It growled and crouched low, clearly gauging how high it could jump. Trevor climbed a few limbs higher, throwing glances down to the wolf as it stood up to claw at the tree and tore inch-deep gouges into the bark.

Satisfied, Trevor let his legs fall to either side of the branch he was on and leaned back against the trunk, mindful of his shoulder. He peered over to see the wolf circling the tree, its fixation not assuaged by the introduction of this new variable.

Trevor assessed his shoulder. It was deep, but all the important bits were still more less where they were supposed to be. The punctures from its teeth were as big around as his thumb, and he could push his index finger in to where it met his hand. He groaned, and wiped his hands on his trousers. Considering that the other vampires he’d known to run across werewolves had been reduced to mulch, Trevor could appreciate that he’d gotten lucky.

He looked down again. The wolf was still circling, glaring up at him between baleful howls. He leaned back against the tree. The moon would call back the wolf eventually, and he’d be left alone to heal. For now, he needed rest.

***

Trevor opened his eyes to the first truly sunny day they’d had in weeks. Finally the watery clouds had given up the fight and the sun glowed a warm yellow. It felt like hot needles in Trevor’s eyes, but it was warm on his skin. _It’s all about balance_.

The Belmont stretched and was duly reminded of his shoulder wound when he tried to move his arms over his head.

_Right. Werewolf._

He shuffled forward on his branch, looking down to check that the copper wolf of last night had left. The man didn’t see anything on the ground beyond shredded bark and low ferns.

He dismounted more clumsily than he would have liked, his stiff limbs thwarting a gentle landing.

“Ah!” A young woman shot upright from where she’d been curled up against the tree. She looked at Trevor with alarm. “Who are you?” Why did you just fall out of a tree?” Her hair bounced as she rattled herself awake, knocking loose a small cascade of leaves and twigs from her wavy red hair.

Trevor dusted himself off and stretched his back. “I _gracefully got down from_ a tree, thank you.” He took in the flaking blood smeared across her face and her general lack of clothing. “Do you know what’s happening right now?”

She crossed her arms. “Well, a strange man with a bloody shoulder fell out of a tree on top of me, denied that he fell out of a tree, and hasn’t offered me anything to cover myself with.” She uncrossed her arms to gesture to her naked body. Trevor suddenly found the ground by his feet very interesting.

He slid off his cloak and handed it to the woman. “Is there anything else?” Maybe this was her first transformation. It would explain why she didn’t go back to other wolves and spend the night circling the tree. He flicked his eyes up to see the woman sniff at the cloak, then angle her head upward and sniff in Trevor’s general direction.

“I just woke up after being a werewolf last night, if that’s what you’re asking. Although I suspect you may already know that.” She slid the cloak over her shoulders and wrinkled her nose as she stood.

She brushed her fingers through her hair, freeing several more twigs and disrupting a patch matted with blood, then approached Trevor with an outstretched hand.

“I’m Sypha Belnades.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize this is a wild universe to do a Being Human AU with, but Alucard has such Big Ghost Energy I couldn't resist


	2. Will-o'-the-wisp

“Trevor who?” Sypha jogged to catch up with the man disappearing into the unmarked woods.

“Trevor who was chased up a tree by a werewolf last night and would like to go take a nap.”

Sypha sighed and picked up her pace. Her feet always ached after a full moon, and this was not helping. She missed her shoes.

“Hey!” She tugged on Trevor’s good shoulder; he slowed down but didn’t stop. “Where are you going?”

“I told you, I need to rest. Probably ought to take a good look at my shoulder too.”

Sypha had almost forgotten about the ugly bite for how little mind this strange man seemed to pay it. She maneuvered to his other side to get a better view. “Hm.”

This got Trevor to stop. “‘Hm’? This gets a ‘hm’?” He waved his hand at the crusted mess. “What does it take to get a sorry?”

“Disembowelment, usually.”

“Christ.” He started walking again.

Sypha groaned performatively and followed suit. “I was just interested to see how wide the bite was - I’ve never actually seen the wolf, you know - I was curious how big she is.”

“Big.”

Sypha smiled. “Well, I assumed that much. She must have big teeth, too. What do you think, like this?” She held up a hand with her fingers spaced a few inches apart.

“What’s this about?” 

“My question first - where are you going?” Sypha desperately wanted to rejoin her caravan, but this stranger was clearly full of new information and she wasn’t about to give that up for a change of clothes slightly sooner. “You’ve been walking due south this entire time, and there’s nothing but woods that way for miles.”

Trevor paused, then squinted up at the sun. “Huh.”

“Come back to my camp with me - we’re right by the river, we have several healers. I’m sure they’ll take better care of you than whatever is waiting for you at home.” Sypha sniffed the air again. Her whole nose felt tingly and strange in the days around a full moon, like her sinuses had crystallized. The borrowed cloak was soaked through with blood on one side, and it drowned out every other nuance even her human senses would have detected. It was … strange, like the scent equivalent of dipping your fingers in warm oil - an unsettling sort of nothing. She hated it, but not knowing was driving her crazy. She held her tongue in favor of persuasion. “Trevor. Stop walking away.” The man paused. _Yes - blunt, but persuasive._

“What’s waiting at your home that is so fascinating you keep running away from me?”

Trevor seemed to think for a minute. “I don’t know you. Hell, I stabbed you in the neck last night. Why are you following me?”

Sypha reached up and brushed her fingers along the space above her collarbone. There was indeed a thick scab, about the width of a knife. “Hm.”

“Hm?”

“Yes, _Trevor_. This is also a ‘hm’ injury.” She glared at him, irritated that this conversation seemed to be going nowhere. For a moment, he faced her with an equally steely gaze, then he split into a broad smile.

“I can’t believe this. Who are you?”

His smile was infectious, but Sypha’s exasperation bore through. “I told you - I’m Sypha Belnades, Speaker -” she cut herself off. “Speaker.” She allowed herself a small head shake. _Now’s not the time to think about this_. She looked back at Trevor, now leaning against a tree. “Sypha Belnades who has asked you several questions, very few of which you have actually answered.” She crossed her arms. _Ugh_ , her arms were sore.

Trevor took in the spectacle before him. He put his face in his hands and mumbled something unintelligible, followed by a quiet stream of profanities. Sypha raised an eyebrow and settled onto a fallen trunk that was rotting nearby. _Yes, nicer on feet._ She stretched her arches as Trevor stepped out from the tree toward her.

“I’m Trevor Belmont. I live nearby. Sort of.” Sypha frowned. “Probably not anymore. Before I ran into you, I made a real fool of myself.”

“I don’t believe it. You seem so level-headed to me.”

“Yeah, well, my lodging situation was tenuous to begin with, and I think being pegged as a violent drunk nullifies any and all credit I had as a tenant.” Trevor huffed a sigh and joined Sypha on the moss-covered log.

“You were awfully spry for a violent drunk.” Her voice was level, probing.

“Well, I’m also a vampire.” He didn’t raise his eyes from the ground.

Sypha narrowed her eyes slightly as she considered this. He did survive a werewolf attack, and it would explain the funny smell.

“What, is that so hard to believe?” Trevor leaned back slightly.

“No, of course not. It’s not like I’ve ever met a vampire before, at least not knowingly. I guess I just expected something a little more …” She tilted her head to the side, considering him a moment. “... aristocratic, I suppose.”

“I’m a Belmont, last son of the House of Belmont - that’s fucking noble! What do you mean?” The man stood up from the rotten log, surprisingly indignant.

Sypha laughed. It felt good to clear out the stale air from deep in her lungs. She could hear Trevor chuckle as well, despite his best efforts to stifle it. “You know what I mean. More gold trims and velvet.”

“Getting recruited doesn’t exactly come with a new budget. What you see is what you get.” He waved his hand down his body, grinning.

Sypha smiled back. “I see a man who needs a good scrub and somewhere to stay for a day or two. And lucky for you, you’ve just met a benevolent soul who wants to make sure your shoulder doesn’t get sour.” She stood and resettled the ridiculous bloody cloak over her shoulders. “Come on, then.”

She looked over her shoulder to see that Trevor was a few steps behind her.

They’d started to meander west, to the river, and Sypha could see Trevor’s relief to have the sun at his back.

***

The moon was fat and low in the sky, just beginning to wane. From the opening in the back of the wagon, Sypha could see the outline of Trevor’s back and hip cast in the orange light of the campfire’s coals, hedged in by half a dozen Speakers who’d chosen to join him outside, whether he wanted company or not.

Delicately, Sypha finished securing her pack and stood, careful not to bump her head on the wagon’s low covering. She stepped over the sleeping forms of her family as she made her way to the exit. The wood creaked softly with her weight, but no one stirred. 

She dropped to the packed dirt beside the wagon and returned to standing. The impact jarred her knees and she was again reminded of why she was doing this. Sypha knew who she was to her clan, but they didn’t know the wolf - and neither did she. The woman began taking cautious steps to cross the circle of wagons toward the road, and ignored the complaints of her aching ligaments.

It wasn’t a goodbye. She knew that. When they’d found her after the attack, they sent out scouts to other Speaker clans in the area to seek more information. Unfortunately, their collected memory libraries on the topic of fledgling werewolves was sparse. Her grandfather knew she was dissatisfied, and he saw first-hand the pain she felt when she realized her magic had been affected. Over the past several months, the mauling she had suffered healed tremendously, but the damage to her elemental abilities remained. She needed to learn more, to find answers.

Meeting the Belmont was a rare opportunity, but he seemed unwilling to share anything, neither occult knowledge nor about himself. Even after she brought him back to the camp and he’d relaxed somewhat, he was still cagey and defensive. Sypha was sympathetic. She didn’t know how long he’d been this way - she suspected since the burning of his family estate, half a decade or so past - but in her own brief experience, she’d felt the toll conditions such as theirs could take. To know you were a danger to the ones you loved, no matter how careful you were, was a burden, simply put. She’d been at the whim of the moon for less than a year, and already saw herself building up walls to keep others out, whether out of some desire to protect them or because she felt they wouldn’t understand the nuance of her emotional state, she didn’t know. It was a difficult habit to break, even if she knew it was irrational.

She glanced back over the circle when she passed the coals - where was he? He’d seemed comfortable enough this evening. She briefly considered that perhaps he’d wandered off in search of blood, and was suddenly overwhelmed with the magnitude of danger she’d just introduced to her people. The woman felt her pulse spike. _What the hell are you doing? You thought you would just drop a hungry vampire on their laps and stroll away onto your spiritual journey?_ Her eyes flicked across the dimly lit forms on the ground, then over the impenetrably dark wagons. _You’re wretched._

“Going somewhere?”

Sypha managed to stifle her yelp but jumped nearly out of her skin, reflexively turning and shaping her hands for a fireball that didn’t come. She lowered her arms quickly and hissed, “You’re a menace.”

“Guilty as charged.” Trevor had his hands up in surrender. “Why are you awake?”

“I had to pee,” she deadpanned.

Trevor assessed her bundled pack and proximity to the road. “With all your earthly possessions on your back? Interesting choice.”

“I’m leaving. I need time to gather my own history.” Sypha had the sense he wasn’t going to drop the subject.

“You can’t leave me here!” Trevor whispered harshly.

“You don’t have to stay, idiot! I thought you were planning on leaving in the morning!” Sypha looked around, checking to see no one had woken up.

Trevor reached up a hand to run through his ragged hair. “Well, I guess that was the plan. I’d assumed that you’d still be around.”

Sypha played surprised. “I thought you didn’t want me following you.”

“That was mere hours after you’d nearly bitten my arm off and started your incessant pestering. I’ve had food, and beer, and sleep since then. I’ve reassessed.” Trevor crossed his arms, as though he’d just presented an offer.

“If you’re coming with me, you better make yourself useful.”

“I - Elder Belnades.” Sypha watched Trevor’s eyes widen at something behind her. She turned to face her grandfather.

“Is it time?” His voice was low, soft and resigned. Sypha nodded. Betrayer tears had started to collect in her eyes.

The old man chuckled. “You really don’t know how to be quiet, do you?” Sypha smiled and stepped toward him. He wrapped his arms around her as she buried her face in his robes - the scent of juniper and smoke tickled her nose. Trevor cleared his throat and shuffled beyond the ring of wagons.

They broke apart and he rested a hand on her shoulder. “And you’ve taken the Belmont as your bodyguard? I’ll say, I’m not sure that’s the wisest choice for a young werewolf such as yourself, but I appreciate the precaution.”

Sypha smiled slyly. “I was just offering him a role as ‘pack mule’, we’ll have to see if he gets promoted.” She sighed. “I’m going to miss you. Everybody.”

The Elder nodded solemnly. “Us as well. But I’ve come to agree with you, as far as the necessity of your journey - though not the attempt to sneak off in the night.” He gave her a chiding look. Sypha didn’t want to say goodbye. It was too concrete.

“I love you.”

“I love you too. We will see you again.”

***

It was late afternoon and they had just crested a low hill when a mounted figure appeared over the horizon.

Ultimately, they decided to travel south, toward the coastal cities. Sypha had justified this to herself and Trevor with the fact they would have the most diverse encounters this way, and encounter more information, or at the very least more interesting people. Privately, she was aware they had set off down the road more or less at random. They both needed to be going somewhere, and to date, neither of their experiences with the supernaturally afflicted nor humans had been particularly rewarding. It was a tenuous tie that kept them together, but Sypha was already keen to defend it. And so, she did not voice her concern as they approached the fair-haired figure.

The traveler drew near and waved broadly. “Good afternoon!”

Sypha grinned. They were far to cheery to be a highwayman. “Hello!” she called back. Trevor groaned.

They met the stranger on her side of the path, where the sandy dirt gave way to rough gravel. The woman smiled warily and pushed back a few strands of hair from where they’d fallen loose and adhered to the sheen on her forehead. As she dismounted, she spoke. “Thank you, travelers, for your pause!” With both feet on solid ground, she straightened her shoulders and stood to her full height. She wore a dark-colored dress that Sypha expected was more expensive than it looked. She wasn’t an expert in textiles, but she couldn’t deny the generous cut of the sleeves and skirt, displaying the quantity of fabric required for the garment. Contrasted with the shabby wool of her mitts and the well-loved scarf twisted around her head and shoulders, it made for a fascinating portrait. Sypha was teeming with questions.

“Would either of you happen to have water you’re willing to spare? I can pay you in coin, or trade some of my rations, if you would rather.” She opened one of the saddlebags and Sypha caught glimpse of the small library the woman had stashed away. “I knocked over my costrel in my haste to break camp this morning, clumsy.” The strange woman extracted the container from the bag and faced them fully.

“Of course!”

“Sypha…” Trevor was quiet in his warning, but it was unclear whether he doubted the intentions of the stranger or was wrestling with his own personal demons.

“Trevor, for gods’ sake, lend a hand.” She wanted a look at those books. She could survive a little thirst. She hoped Trevor could manage the same.

“There’s a river about two days that way,” the woman offered, and pointed down the path she had appeared from. “It’s fast moving and higher on the mountain, very clean.”

Sypha took a knee to rummage through their pack, and raised one hand to indicate her approval. When she found the waterskin and looked up, she found Trevor and the stranger engaged in an uneasy stare-down.

She got up and rejoined the conversation. “I’m Sypha,” she said, and extended the water.

“Lisa,” replied the woman as she took it and undid the stop. The wind picked up over the flat land and whipped her blonde hair free of its braid. Trevor did not break the silence.

“Does your companion speak? I mean no disrespect, I merely want to know whether I should be expecting a response.” She had an easy, pleasant expression on her face, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

“I’m Trevor, ma’am.” The man shifted his weight awkwardly.

“What an interesting name. A bit uncommon, no?” Lisa finished transferring the better part of their water into her own vessel. “Regardless, it’s a pleasure to meet you both.” There was something playing behind her eyes that Sypha couldn’t quite unravel.

“If you don’t mind me asking, where are you traveling to?” Sypha struggled to keep the intensity out of her voice.

“Lupu, as of now. I’ve recently found myself on my own and would like to return to a life I once left.” She flicked her eyes to the ground, then raised them and returned the skin to Sypha. “What seems like a fair price for your assistance?” She pulled a plain leather pouch out from her traveling cloak and uncinched it with long, delicate fingers. A glint of its contents caught in the sun and Sypha thought Trevor’s jaw might drop off his head.

He seemed to come to his senses quickly enough. “Well, considering that was nearly all that remained of _our_ water -” He threw a scowl at Sypha. “I think the price has gone up.”

Lisa smiled, unconcerned. “Of course.” She extracted a palmful of gold coins stamped with markings Sypha had never seen before. “It’s not a local currency, but I imagine most sensible merchants will still accept it as pay.” Trevor blinked and ogled the wealth in his hand.

Lisa turned. “And you, young Speaker. What do you think is fair?” Sypha was on the brink of scolding Trevor for tossing out their chance at more information for a week of cheap alcohol; she was elated to hear the woman offer something else.

Sypha thought. “What’s something only you know?” she challenged.

Lisa quirked a smile. “An interesting question.”

“An _invasive_ question,” added Trevor.

Lisa leaned into the roan horse beside her and stroked its neck. It knickered quietly. “Like I said, I’ve had to leave my home. My husband … he’s not well.”

Sypha felt a wave of guilt crash over her. “I’m … sorry. Has he had the ague before?” Plenty of her family had suffered fever and illness and returned to health, just not the majority.

“Oh, no, his body is hale.” Sypha couldn’t stop her eyebrows from creasing. “It’s a sickness in his mind, something that was there long before I met him, and will likely remain long after I’m gone.” A steadfast expression settled over her face.

“I … thank you, for sharing,” said Sypha earnestly. “Sometimes hearing your own words say what you already know can be good. It makes something that’s easier to make sense of.” She nodded sagely, even as she thought to herself she sounded silly. _You’ve just met maybe the most interesting person you’ll ever speak to, and you’ve immediately managed to invade her privacy_ and _drudge up hurtful memories? You’re just eager to throw away all the good you get, aren’t you?_

Sypha set her jaw and blocked out the inner monologue. “What about another trade? Ask me anything you’d like - anything. I’d love to hear more about your husband. Perhaps something less painful?

The sun had begun to set, but the running colors of the sky were progressively hidden by encroaching storm clouds, tall and heavy. Lisa looked up to read it.

“Listen to me, spilling my tragedy on naive ears.” She breathed a laugh. Trevor looked almost offended at being called naive, but blissfully kept his mouth shut. “But I must admit, it does feel nice to speak freely.”

Sypha hoped she looked reassuring.

“There was a misunderstanding, I suppose you could say. It could have escalated into something so much worse, but, it didn’t, not at the root of the thing.”

Sypha could sense Trevor’s irritation at the lack of specifics. Maybe it was a wolf thing. Granted, he was also fidgeting like a man possessed.

“He’s a unique man, you have to understand. I worry for him. More now than I once did.” She sighed and looked down where she was idly twisting the gold band on her fourth finger. The weather had begun, unable to make up its mind between patchy snow and sleet. The icy precipitation melted on impact, releasing the scent of wet dust from the earth. “It was an accident, ultimately. He forgets his strength when he’s with us - me.” Her voice wavered slightly, but she drove on. Trevor and Sypha’s presence seemed incidental at this point. “As much as it kills me, I can’t be with him now. I can’t forgive him, I don’t want to, I want … oh, impossible things. To unfurl the knot in my chest, really.”

Sypha felt a deep pang at her words. “I think we all do, sometimes.” She briefly met Trevor’s eyes before he looked away.

They let the words steep in the silence for a couple minutes while the frigid rain steadily increased. The light patches of dry ground were nearly obsolete when Sypha spoke.

“Can I answer a question for you, before you go? I can guarantee nothing with regards to him.” She pointed a thumb at Trevor, who rolled his eyes. Sypha offered up a tentative smile. “I feel guilty pulling all of this from you and giving nothing back.”

Lisa leveled her gaze at Sypha, then Trevor. She was again taken aback by the clarity in her expression, a sharpness in her eyes that made Sypha feel vulnerable, inspected in her entirety. Somehow, coming from this stranger, it wasn’t unsettling. She felt … regarded, like she was being filed away for safekeeping in some infinite library. Trevor balked at her stare, his eyes darting from Lisa to the other brewing storm and back.

Sypha watched some unknowable calculation pass behind her eyes.

“I think I already have the answer to my question.” She smiled enigmatically at the two of them. “The weather has really picked up, hasn’t it?” This broke the trance they’d fallen into.

“It’s eerie,” grumbled Trevor.

Lisa paced to the other side of the horse, who was fidgeting only slightly less than Trevor, eager to move on. “Thank you, both of you, for your hospitality,” she said as she mounted. “People like you, out here on the road - things could have gone much worse.” The horse shuffled its hooves and snorted.

“Thank you for speaking with us. It’s a lot to share with strangers.”

“It’s a lot to give nearly all your water to a stranger when you don’t know when the next water will be.”

“It would have been cruel, to leave you thirsting.” Sypha knew they needed to move on before dark, but she was reluctant to part ways.

Lisa laughed. “Indeed. You’ll be seeking lodging, yes?”

“Before we freeze to death, ideally,” sniped Trevor. “But unless you have a guest house in those saddlebags of yours, we had better be on our way.” Sypha quietly elbowed him in the ribs.

“Of course, of course.” She passed both reins to one hand and tugged at a cord around her neck, pulling free a set of heavy keys. “If you stay to the left on the next fork, my husband’s residence is only a few days' walk further. Less, if you move quickly.” Lisa looked down from her towering place upon the horse and offered the keys to Sypha, who grasped them eagerly. “If you keep the sun behind you and stay focused on your target, it’s impossible to miss.”

Sypha could feel an odd red magic buzzing through the metal in her hand, but didn’t know quite what to make of it.

“What, you live conveniently just off the main road?” Trevor’s arms were crossed, severe, but the rapid wind and sleet had mussed his hair into an absurd rat’s nest that rather spoiled the effect.

“Just keep the keys with you. It’s a rather … ostentatious building. Impossible to miss.” She looked to Sypha for understanding. She nodded diligently.

Lisa leaned precariously to the side again to address Trevor directly. “You’re welcome to stay within its walls whenever you need.” Trevor looked uncomfortably back up at her.

“Um, okay.”

Lisa centered herself on the saddle and surveyed the road ahead. “Thank you, for your time. I wish you safe travels.” She nodded curtly, then ushered the horse into motion, gaining speed as her hazy silhouette faded into the rain.

***

There really was no getting around it - walking was dull. It was the same scenery, the same company, and the same awful, truly wicked weather without fail. It did not make the situation easier, the fact their nearest destination may or may not be extant.

  


“It has to be around here somewhere!”

“This is absurd! I can’t believe we listened to that maniac woman!”

“She was wonderful!”

“Doesn’t mean she’s not crazy.”

“That’s - okay, fair point.”

  


“Sypha, I don’t care if the keys are magic. She probably stole them off the last pair of unlucky saps she ran across.”

“Wow. You are unusually hostile today.”

“Hungry.”

“Hungry? Or th-”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

  


“We should turn back. For all we know, this 

“It’s only been a day-”

“And a half. And most of last night. Two full days of chasing a make-believe house.”

“Give me somewhere better to go and I’ll happily change course.”

“What’s that I hear? Nothing? Great, let’s keep the pace.”

  


“You smell like wet dog.”

“It’s wet out. Your breath smells like a slaughterhouse, and that’s all the time.”

“Really?”

  


“Admit it - we’re lost.”

“We’re not lost.

“Sypha, look at me.”

The Speaker let herself be turned by the shoulders. One of the simple pleasures of traveling with others was the fact you always had someone to lean on to share warmth. It made long slogs through the cold and wet that much more bearable. Sypha resented Trevor’s lack of body heat with a surprising passion.

She could feel the cold of his hands on her arms through her layered robes and oilskin cloak. “Sypha, I know you want to find this place. I do too - just maybe not as much, or in the same way?” 

Sypha grunted.

“But we’re not getting anywhere. We’re both miserable. I would love to find an enchanted cottage where we could live in peace until we figure something better out, but it’s not gonna happen. We’re chasing a ghost.” A wedge of moon obstructed by the same relentless, intrusive fog that followed them in the day dripped precious little light over them now, but Sypha could still make out the defeat in his shoulders, the dark circles under his eyes.

She sighed. She knew she should concede defeat and try turning back. But the raw idea of an empty home that could serve as sanctuary, however temporarily, held so much appeal. She thought Trevor felt the same way, that he would appreciate a haven out from under the eyes of humans. Alas, she couldn’t deny that their current lead seemed to be a dead end, and they were on a path that, frankly, was beating the shit out of them.

“Okay.”

“Okay? Really? I didn’t think I was going to convince you that easily.”

“Eh, it was mostly the rain.” Sypha shivered and the oilcloth crinkled. “I’m tired of not being able to see thirty feet ahead of my nose.”

Trevor nodded. “Let’s make camp for the night. The land’s low here, but it looks like an incline up ahead. Do you mind walking a little longer?” He looked genuinely curious.

“Not at all.”

***

Trevor tried to wake up his travel companion gently, but the werewolf rolled onto her stomach and buried her face in the wad of robes she was using as a pillow. “Sypha?”

The man popped his head outside their low shelter to get another look at the sight he’d woken up to minutes ago. He pulled his head back under and softly shook the woman’s shoulder. “Sypha?”

“Mmph,” she growled and swatted his hand away.

“Sypha!” Trevor winced at the volume.

She stirred and rolled onto her side. “Huh?”

“Are you awake?”

Sypha blinked a few times and replied blearily. “Yes?”

“So, that woman we met, with the keys?”

“Trevor, what’s this about?” He was speaking quickly, closer to “giddy” than Sypha had ever seen him. The clear sun had returned full-force and crept into the edges of the shelter.

“Did she mention her husband’s name?”

Sypha sat up and stretched slowly. “No. I mean, I don’t think so. Why?”

“I think I’ve got a pretty good guess. Meet me outside once you get dressed.” Update delivered, he slipped out of the low shelter like a cat.

  


Sypha rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and tried to keep from tripping on the rocky terrain. It was barely past dawn, and she had finally managed some decent rest last night. She turned her head up to glare at Trevor, who was himself glaring and the hulking castle just up the path, looming over their tiny camp. It was an architectural fever dream, and looked nothing like any castle Sypha had seen before. Its flying buttresses and high arches let keyholes of sharp blue sky through, with toothy spires that clamored absurdly high. It was … ostentatious.

“Trevor?” She kept her voice light.

“Mm-hm?” The man didn’t turn away from the castle. She continued in an airy tone.

“What the fuck is this?”

“How much do you know about Dracula?”


	3. In One Basket

They were unbearably chatty. Alucard had been more or less completely alone for over a month, locked in the silence of his own mind - one would think that hearing new voices would be a relief.

But they just. Kept. Talking.

Alucard had been following behind them for the better part of an hour. They wandered through the halls of his home as though they had some kind of claim, some right to be here. It boiled under his skin, but he chased after that heat, finally feeling something other than deadened melancholy.

  


The man, Trevor, apparently, glanced around the current hallway. “Do you hear something?”

“It’s a big echoey castle, it’s mostly weird noises.” The other newcomer moved ahead slightly and tilted her head back to view the vaulted ceiling. “I can’t believe this is real. I thought the stories must have been embellished, at least a little - this is impossible.”

“I could have sworn I heard footsteps.” The dark-haired man surveyed the narrow room. Alucard let himself fade to near transparency and slipped behind one of the many columns that lined the hall. He heard the man’s companion snort, unimpressed.

“You’re paranoid.” The pair continued their loop around the main floor. Sun cut in through the narrow windows, drawing slashes into the carpets, full of dry dust. Alucard stayed a few paces behind, well into the heavy shadow running along the wall. The corridor turned abruptly, opening into a slightly wider passage framed by several wide oil paintings. He smiled to himself.

The woman paused her gawking for a moment. “Do you really think there might be other people here?”

“What, scared already?” Trevor’s voice sounded oddly flat, like it meant to come out glib but stumbled halfway through his throat. The other stranger’s hair bounced as she turned to face her companion with crossed arms. _Sypha, was it?_

“You said it yourself - this place is supposed to be full of traps and monsters. It’s built to play with your head. Just because the master of the castle doesn’t appear to be around, doesn’t mean we’re safe.”

They were safe. The castle was dead now. It was just an imposing shell, the shed skeleton of an ugly beetle.

“I don’t hear any people. No heartbeats.” By this point, Alucard had pieced together that the scraggly trespasser was a vampire; perhaps he would have been able to deduce this if he got up close, but Sypha was like a dog with a bone and wouldn’t let the subject drop. It had come up repeatedly in the half-day he’d been in their presence.

Right now, he wanted quiet.

He grabbed the gilt frame of the painting just behind Sypha’s shoulder and jerked it off the wall, allowing it to clatter down noisily as he phased to the end of the stretch of hall to topple the oval frame of a mountain landscape. He flickered back to the bank of shadow where he’d been hiding before. He knew they couldn’t see him, but the instinct to avoid getting caught hadn’t gone away yet.

Sypha yelped and Trevor swore under his breath. They both fell into a defensive stance - Trevor practiced and stable, Sypha more wary, her arms indecisive between outstretched angles and the knife at her hip.

“You saw that, right?” tossed Trevor over his shoulder. Sypha straightened and started walking again, faster.

“It’s not nice to make fun of people, Trevor.” She kept up her pace and neared the end of the hall. Trevor jogged to catch up.

“What?” Alucard saw they were about to enter the east dining hall, the one with suits of armor displayed along the wall. This was where he typically scared off most of the looters that made it through the gates. “Sypha, what’s going on?”

“I know I’m new to this, but I don’t appreciate being mocked.” She kept walking as they entered the space - this time her eyes didn’t wander and stayed fixed on the far door into the next room.

“What, you think I did that? The nails were probably rusted, just broke with the movement as we walked by. I just -” Sypha wasn’t looking at him, but Trevor leaned his head from side to side as he chose his next words. Alucard paused at the head of the table as they continued to walk away past the long row of dark wood chairs. “I could have sworn I saw somebody pull that frame down, for just a split second.”

Sypha turned. She was not impressed.

Alucard chose this time to remove one of the helmets within arm’s reach from its perch and fling it toward the strangers. As intended, it went wide and crashed into the stone of the massive hearth behind them.

“The fuck?” Trevor flicked his eyes around the room. Sypha ducked and quickly stood back up. She looked furious. Alucard loosened the grip on the next helmet he intended to throw and waited.

“Well? What’s next? Gonna break some plates?” Her glare ran the perimeter of the room, finding nothing, until she noticed the slight figure between two suits and her eyes widened with recognition.

The blonde man dropped off the physical plane in an instant. The air was motionless around them; the tablecloth didn’t even flutter.

***

“Father! Please!” Rubble and fire rained down around him. The village square had become a private circle of Hell.

Alucard gripped his sword, as if he could do anything against the force of nature he was facing. The flames of the pyre had reached their apex, licking at the indigo sky, hungry for more.

Whatever remained of the bishop and his men would be unrecognizable at this point. Most of the crowd that had been gathered upon their arrival was in scattered heaps throughout the square. Organs and limbs were reduced to a pulp as the townspeople trampled over remains in their rush to shelter.

“They’re dead!” Alucard was shouting into the sky where the miasma of smoke and flame was densest. The screaming of countless bats and roar of fire subsided for a moment to make way for a booming voice.

“What ‘they’? They who watched? Who bayed for the blood of an innocent woman?”

“They were misled!” The young man fought to stay standing as survivors stormed past him, out of the epicenter of their terror.

“This is more than the diocese! The city will burn!” Alucard could make out his father’s eyes in the sky above. They wheeled wildly, alight with hellfire. Unfocused.

“I’m going to mother! I need to know she’s safe!” He needed to concern himself with what little he could control right now. He took off running to the edge of the square.

  


He made it nearly all the way to the cottage before he was confronted. His father appeared on the path, stepping out of dark mist into the form of a man. Dracula plead his case, voice level and fair. Alucard was firm. He didn’t budge.

  


He knew it was a mortal blow as soon as his father’s claws made contact. The crimson of his father’s eyes flooded the sclera, and Alucard had just enough time to recognize his movement forward before his chest was rent open.

All around him the sound cut out - he felt his body gasp but couldn’t hear it. He furrowed his brow at the bright red that now glazed his father’s hand. _How did …?_

His knees and neck became limp at the same time. As he slumped to the sandy slush beneath him, his eyes fell onto the opening where the rest of his body was supposed to be. _Oh. Red._

The sound flowed back to him as his blood threw itself out of his body. A low voice was keening in a panicked whisper nearby. “No, no, no, no…”

Something cool and strong caught him before he collapsed completely, gently cradling his head in a massive hand. Something warm dripped onto his cheek.

“Father, I …” The air suddenly seemed thick as water. He coughed and tasted his blood, then pulled harder to bring breath into his lungs.

“Easy, easy.” The voice cracked and Alucard felt the man’s hand fluttering around his face and neck, searching for somewhere safe to touch. He opened his eyes - he didn’t remember closing them. Above, his father’s face, streaming with red tears, filled his field of vision. “I’m sorry, I -” The words stopped and he gasped. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why -” He was shaking his head now, his sentences fragmented, as more bloody tears spattered onto Alucard’s face.

The young man tried to reach up and hold him, to grasp his arm and reassure him in some way, but his limbs weren’t responding. He opened his mouth, but now his lips were gone, and his eyes wouldn’t close - then, like the tide coming back in, dark came and washed all his panic away.

***

Alucard thought the afterlife seemed an awful lot like being in a coffin.

  


He was drawn back to nights as a young boy when he’d sneak into the lower levels of his home to see his father at rest. Occasionally his mother would stay in Targoviste working late. After eating the dinner she had prepared and fumbling through what was left of his lessons, the castle halls suddenly seemed very, very empty. He wished he could have seen the look of shock on his mother’s face, quickly replaced with fondness, when she pushed aside the lid of her husband’s coffin to find her son curled up, sound asleep against his side. He’d lost count of the number times she’d told him the story.

He recalled an instance of his mother’s voice, muffled through wood and satin. “Dear? Are you still down here?” Her footfalls were heavy in the cavernous room. Her voice returned, quieter. “Unbelievable.” 

The lid opened and Adrian squeezed his eyes closed tighter against the new light, trying to fall back asleep.

“Lisa, darling, he fell asleep on top of me. How was I supposed to move him?

“It’s nearly eleven. How long have you been awake?”

“Ah, a few hours. You’ll be happy to know his heart murmur seems to be fading. Much quieter than last month.”

“Unbelievable.” Her smile was audible. “Here, hand him over.”

The hand that had been slowly rubbing circles over his back stilled, and readjusted to delicately lift him up to his mother, who gathered him up in her arms, huffing to support his weight on her hip. He was only a few years old, but already was gaining an understanding of the differences between his parents. But in that moment he was sleepy and small, and let himself fall limp into the embrace, all worry abandoned.

  


This feeling was much different. He felt contained in a small box, yes, and his mother’s voice was seeping in muffled from around the edges, but her voice was all wrong. It was sharp and harsh; it sounded painful as it tore out of her.

He heard his name, but he didn’t understand.

“My son … our boy. You killed our boy.” The words were warped as if through water.

There was screaming. “You killed our boy! You kill -” a desperate gasp for air. “My son.”

He wanted to go to her, to tell her he was okay, but he didn’t understand. His mind felt like a grain of silt settling deeper and deeper into the riverbed as the current rushed above.

***

Trevor and Sypha were bickering in hushed tones, and Alucard paced the hall just outside the door with his hands on his head. On the other side, the conversation was going nowhere.

“You saw it this time, right?”

“Yes I saw it! What was it?”

“Why should I know?”

“Isn’t this your thing?”

“I told you, becoming a vampire doesn’t come with a fucking handbook!

Alucard heard a thwack much like the sound of someone being knocked in the head.

“I meant a Belmont thing, you ass!”

“First - ow. Second, ghosts don’t really kill a lot of humans. I doubt my ancestors kept a lot of notes on the subject.”

“You think it’s ghosts, then?”

“Ghost, singular.”

The pair froze and turned to see the man now sitting at the table, halfway between them and the hearth. “I’m Alucard.”

“Alucard the ghost?” Trevor asked, incredulous.

“Yes, the ghost.” Alucard leaned back in his seat and crossed his legs. “And who might you be?”

***

He blinked at the harsh mid-winter light in surprise. He hadn’t been outside in a while. He didn’t think so, at least. It must have warmed up quite a bit in the past few days - the biting air no longer assaulted his skin, despite his thin shirt being its only protection. His mother was standing nearby, along with a few of her closer patients and acquaintances from Targoviste, all with eyes downcast.. They were somewhere between the castle and the cottage, he believed, in some anonymous forest clearing. 

“Mother?” He got up and walked over to join the small huddled crowd.

Huddled, it seemed, around a body shrouded in white linen, resting beside a deep furrow intended for eternal repose. He stepped delicately around the hole to get a closer look.

“Adrian.” His mother’s voice was raw.

“Yes?” The young man straightened. How indecorous of him to snoop around the unknown body.

“I hope you can forgive me.” Lisa stepped forward and knelt by the head of the covered form, at the feet of her standing son.

“Why would I need to? Mother, who is this?” Lisa ran her hand over the shroud as though she was brushing away a loose lock of hair. Unconsciously, Alucard mimicked the movement and tucked a stray tress behind his ear.

“If you had a different mother, a different life, it wouldn’t be this way. How could I have known when you were born -” The woman choked off her words. She took a deep breath and focused on finding a stoic composure, a way of carrying herself that Alucard knew brought her comfort.

“Mother, please, you’re starting to scare me. You know I’ve always considered you nothing less than a full parent - the woman who gave birth to me, I never knew her. You -”

“Forgive me, Adrian. For what happened. I wasn’t there when I should have been.”

Alucard frowned. It was like she hadn’t heard him.

“Doctor Tepes, it will be getting dark soon.” It was one of the older women, standing a few feet away. Alucard recognized her - she had particularly disruptive arthritis - but didn’t understand why she, or any of the others, were here. _Clearly this was a funeral, but whose?_

“Of course.” Lisa’s eyes fell again. “I wish your father could have been here, but, I … I couldn’t let him. I know I can be controlling at times -” Alucard smiled slightly. “- but it’s only because I wanted to protect you. I know this is selfish, keeping him out, he’s grieving too, but I can’t let him be here for this. This is a mortal burden.”

There was a quiet murmur through the gathering behind them. Someone he didn’t recognize stepped forward.

“Lisa -” the address was uncertain, but earnest. “We know you loved your son. You can’t blame yourself for the random actions of a wild animal. I think your husband would want the same. Don’t let this harden you.”

Alucard’s head was spinning. He thought he understood, but his grip was coming loose. The logic of this dream was quickly coming unspooled. He knelt next to his mother on the opposite side of the prone figure.

Lisa bent forward and gently pushed aside the shroud, exposing her son’s pallid face. His eyes had fallen open again and Alucard was met with his own vacant stare, unfocused and cloudy. Lisa placed a gentle kiss on the body's forehead and brushed her thumb over the space as she sat back. Alucard could imagine exactly how it would feel and was hyperaware of the stark absence of sensation across his entire body. But that wasn’t exactly it, was it?

Because his body was on the ground in front of him. His body was dead, and his mother was mourning him.

Because his father had torn his body apart - torn _him_ apart.

_But I’m not dead! I’m right here. Why couldn’t they see?_

He tried to get his mother’s attention - he shouted her name and waved his arms. Lisa re-covered the body’s face and stood.

Alucard stood to follow and yelled, first at his mother, then at the congregants. Lisa nodded and two of the crowd stepped forward. They reached the body and began to lower it into the grave.

The young man set his hand on his mother’s shoulder, but there was nothing for it to rest upon. His hand passed through nothing even as he watched it disappear into her torso. Lisa shivered.

He swore and screamed, louder and harsher as the reality settled around him, in time with the soil that settled over the body.

***

Sypha had been shoveling eggs into her mouth for untold minutes. Someone ought to check on her before she choked.

They were in the private kitchen that opened into a small garden courtyard, now overrun with weeds. Alucard had kept the chickens living there fed - anything to quell the boredom - and when Sypha saw them and considered that fresh food might be on the horizon, her entire demeanor became one of excitement.

Thus the current arrangement: Alucard and Trevor sitting opposite each other at the square table pressed up against the window, and Sypha between them, basked in sunlight and eating eggs with gleeful abandon.

“How’d you die then?” Trevor’s eyes flicked down to the glaring red gash across Alucard’s chest. He’d of course died wearing little more than a loose silk shirt, so the perpetually fresh wound was forever on display. He leveled his eyes across the table at Trevor.

“I drowned.” It wasn’t technically untrue. His lungs had been flooded with blood. Ultimately, it _was_ suffocation that did him in.

“For some reason, I don’t believe you.” Alucard could see the rims of his irises flicker red as his eyes threatened to manifest completely. If this was all it took, he wasn’t lying when he’d said he was avoiding blood. Alucard wanted to ask him about it - why he thought it was a good idea to deny something this base about himself, as though it wouldn’t eventually explode in his face. Instead, Alucard continued his verbal sparring.

“And what, pray tell, do you intend to do about it?”

Trevor smiled with all his teeth and leaned in across the table. “You know, most people wouldn’t take antagonizing a vampire so lightly.”

“Most people are corporeal.” Alucard raised his eyebrows, awaiting the Belmont’s response, but he didn’t get one aside from irritated sputtering.

“Most people aren’t us,” spoke Sypha, taking a break from the eggs. She shook her head. “I still don’t understand, though. Why didn’t you follow your mother? Even if she can’t see you, wouldn’t that be better than haunting this … tomb?” They’d informed him that Lisa had given them the keys that guided them to his doorstep. _What had she seen in them?_ Well, it was rather obvious with Sypha - her knife-like curiosity was difficult to overlook. Trevor’s appeal was perhaps more subtle.

“I couldn’t go with her.”

“If this is some tortured ghost thing, I swear…” mumbled Trevor.

Alucard delivered him an icy look. “I can’t leave. I’m bound here. I died on these grounds.”

“Oh,” said Sypha. “That’s - that must be terrible. To be stuck.” Alucard immediately felt guilty for his bitter tone. Who was he to complain, in the midst of their tragedy? He realized that he would slaughter and roast every chicken in the courtyard if it would make her smile again.

“I was able to roam farther out, for a time. I haunted my mother, in her cottage, until recently.” He let his eyes drop to the table. “I worry I may have caused her undue sadness, my presence, like this.”

He felt something cover his hand where it lay on the table. Sypha’s fingers lay over the flat of his hand - on the surface of his skin. It felt strange, a blurry in-between feeling. Alucard gaped, but quickly hid his shock. “She misses you, but she seemed strong. I’m sorry you’re alone now.” She glanced at their joined hands and seemed to remember that this may be against some etiquette, and gently pulled away. Alucard worked very hard not to follow her touch. “I would have asked if you would have liked to come with us - I’m still searching for more information about the wolf, somewhere I can keep her safe. I’m not sure about Trevor.”

“Somewhere I can keep my head low.”

It was unlikely, what Alucard said next.

“What if you both stayed here, in the castle? There’s more than enough space.”

Trevor shrugged. “It’s better than under the tarp. It rained nearly every day last week - a night in a bed sounds about perfect.” He looked to Alucard, and the late afternoon sun caught in his eyelashes. There was a quiet vulnerability in his expression he hadn’t noticed before.

“I was speaking about a semipermanent arrangement.” He looked to Sypha. “My father kept massive libraries on magic and lore, much of it supernatural in nature.” Her ears all but perked up at the information. “My mother kept many medical notes, which may be of use. I make no promises, but I would think this is as good a place as any to search for what you seek.”

Trevor’s silent expression was dubious. Alucard couldn’t go back to being alone, invisible, not after getting this close. “Nearly everyone thinks Dracula is dead. He hasn’t been seen since he fled the castle.” The Belmont looked like he wanted to challenge something he had said, but didn’t know where to start.

“I’m not sure Dracula’s castle is the best place to keep a low profile.”

“Think about it, Trevor.” Sypha had returned to her eggs, scraping the last of them onto her fork as she continued. “Who in their right mind would look for the vampire Belmont in Dracula’s castle? It’s absurd.” She grinned. Trevor groaned quietly. “You know I’m right, don’t you?”

“I can’t just live with - people. Not really. It doesn’t end well.”

“Trevor I -” Sypha scrunched up her face, then relaxed it. “I don’t really know you, but, honestly, what are you so worried about? He’s dead, and you’d have a hard time hurting me.” Trevor unconsciously rolled his right shoulder.

“She’s right.” Alucard couldn’t deny her logic. Trevor frowned.

“She bit me.”

“This your only reservation? Really?” _Unbelievable._ The memory of a smile crept onto Alucard’s face.

“I bit him him pretty hard.” Sypha was struggling to keep a straight face, meanwhile Trevor looked comically serious. Alucard adjusted in his seat, letting the low light from the window fall on his back. A few rays seeped through, softening his shadow, but it was less than it once was.

“I’m sure we can find a large and comfortable dungeon for you to transform in, if you wish.” _A range of options, really, complete with manacles and chains. The full kit._ Alucard yet again deferred his stare to Trevor, wordless.

“Hear that, Trevor? Safe as houses.” Sypha elbowed him good-naturedly, and finally he broke. He sighed more dramatically than the situation called for, but he was smiling now.

  


Alucard guided them past several rooms where they could stay. For road-weary travelers, they were terribly picky. The sun had nearly finished its descent to the horizon by the time they had settled themselves into their chambers. Alucard paced down the intervening hall, and for the first time in months, considered the options for tomorrow’s breakfast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Together at last!  
> My initial plan was to write this as a short one-shot to just establish the premise and be done with it, but it snowballed so fast, and here we are. The plan going forward is a bit more in flux, but it'll probably be at least a couple more chapters. Thank you so much for reading!


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